


Things We Say

by MissCrazyWriter321



Category: Timeless (TV 2016)
Genre: Alcohol, Canon Compliant, Christmas Isn't Canon, F/M, Found Family, Hurt/Comfort, Unwilling Friendship, referenced canon child abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-01
Updated: 2020-06-01
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:27:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24482779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissCrazyWriter321/pseuds/MissCrazyWriter321
Summary: "Are you having an existential crisis here?" He takes a step closer. "Because I think you should probably talk to… Anyone else."
Relationships: Garcia Flynn & Wyatt Logan
Comments: 7
Kudos: 35





	Things We Say

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Elisexyz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elisexyz/gifts).



> Hi! I found this in my drafts, and realized that is was basically complete, but I'd never posted it. Thought I'd share.

He's fine. 

Everyone has found their own ways to cope since Jessica's betrayal; this is his. He stalks through the dark bunker, checking corners and entry points. Quietly, of course; if the others knew what he was doing, they wouldn't understand. 

Especially Lucy. 

She'd look at him with those sad eyes, and he'd say something stupid about feelings again, something she's not ready to hear and is in no condition to handle. Something about how he can't lose her, or every time he falls asleep he sees her bleeding out. 

Or take her into his arms again.

Stupid, stupid Flynn. He knows better, he does, but seeing her so broken in the alley was just too much. Now he can still feel her tears wetting his shirt, her clutching him like he's all she has left. He knows better, though. Her heart has always belonged to Wyatt. 

He's so caught up in his thoughts, he doesn't notice the other figure in the living area until it's too late. 

"You were right, you know?" Wyatt sounds impossibly tired. "In war, you're only as good as the guy in the foxhole next to you." 

Already annoyed with himself for not noticing the man, he crosses his arms, prepared to tell Wyatt off. Wyatt, of all people, has no right to judge him for anything.

When he gets a good look at him in the low light, however, he freezes. 

The young soldier is staring listlessly at the tv. An untouched plate of food rests on the table in front of him, and his shoulders are sagging. He is also, Flynn notes grimly, surrounded by empty glass bottles. 

Lovely. 

"Are you having an existential crisis here?" He takes a step closer. "Because I think you should probably talk to… Anyone else." 

If Wyatt hears him, he doesn't acknowledge his words (of course). "I keep going it over and over in my head, wondering if I could have done anything different-" 

And there's a lot of things he could have done differently, but Flynn knows that spiral all too well. "Then stop." He exhales, unwelcome memories of Iris, Lorena, and gunfire tugging at him. "You'll drive yourself crazy like that." 

Wyatt side-eyes him. "What do you care?" 

"The team needs you," he answers flatly. The thought of them getting hurt, physically or otherwise, because of this man, is infuriating. 

This earns him a strange look. Suddenly, realization dawns in Wyatt's eyes, along with something between smugness and pity. "You don't think you're part of the team." 

It's not a question.

"No." He's an outsider, and he always will be. That's alright. He can handle that. Deserves it, even. "But we're talking about you." 

Wyatt raises a brow. "Think Lucy'd disagree," he says simply, and a new wave of irritation washes over Flynn for being such an open book when it comes to that woman. If even Wyatt can see, she will figure it out soon. She's a genius, after all. 

"Pretty sure she'd be outvoted." 

A second of consideration, then- "How many bullets you take saving Rufus?" He doesn't give him time to answer, plowing on. "And Jiya told me what you did for her. The pancakes?" 

She told him about that? It's not that he's embarrassed, exactly, but he certainly isn't comfortable with Wyatt Logan, of all people, knowing. 

Two nights after Rufus died, Flynn decided that Jiya had gone long enough without eating. So he whipped up some pancakes, and decorated them with strawberries, blueberries, and whipped cream.  _ "They have faces," _ he told her.  _ "You can't not eat the faces." _

It worked, just like it worked on Iris so many years before. Her shaky laugh had been more than enough to reassure him he'd done the right thing. Now, though, Wyatt's looking at him, far too knowing, and he'd rather someone drive a blade through his ribs than continue this conversation. 

He doesn't know how to respond, but Wyatt isn't done. 

"Agent Christopher, Mason… They look at you for advice. Strategy." Wyatt closes his eyes. "Supposed to be my job, you know? Taking care of the team?" 

A retort is on the tip of his tongue, but he bites it back. 

"But you…. You show up here, and I try to protect them from you… But no. If it wasn't for you, we'd all be dead." 

Flynn briefly wonders exactly how much he's had to drink. 

“Happy to be of service.” His legs are starting to ache, and he absently scans the area for empty seats. “But any time you’d like your old job back, I’m sure the others wouldn’t object.” 

He leaves Wyatt to consider that, pulling a chair over from the kitchen. Apparently, this talk is going to take awhile. As he walks, he watches the shadows, looking for even the slightest trace of Rittenhouse. Nothing. They are, for the moment, safe. 

Wyatt does not look up when he returns. "Rufus hates me. Jiya hates me. Lucy hates me, or if she doesn't, she should. And Jess-" His voice breaks, and he cuts himself off, furiously pressing his hands against his eyes. 

It's obvious he doesn't want Flynn to know that he's crying, and Flynn files that away for later use. It isn't his first choice to get through to Wyatt, but he'll keep it as a last resort.

For now, he'll pretend he hasn't noticed. 

"Jessica is brainwashed." As much as he wishes he didn't, he has a touch of sympathy for the woman whose childhood was stolen by Rittenhouse. He cannot stop thinking about how easily it could have been Iris instead. "But she loved you enough not to kill you." 

No response. 

Wyatt is shaking now. 

"And Lucy isn't interested in doing what she should. Not these days." Lucky for him; he'd never get a word in with her otherwise. "Rufus and Jiya just need time. And you…" He reaches out, grabbing Wyatt's shoulder. "You need to get your head on straight." 

Wyatt jerks away, wiping his eyes quickly. They're still red, but almost dry, when he snaps. "You think I don't know that? You think I don't-" He slams his fist down on the table, sending a couple of bottles flying, and Flynn winces. That had to hurt. "I can't! I can't, okay? I can't even sleep without seeing Jess, or Lucy, or Rufus dying, and it's my fault, so don't-don't act like it's that easy." 

Easy. 

No, of course not. It could never be easy, not with something like this. That's one thing he knows. 

Wyatt isn't quite finished. "You have no idea what it's like." 

Oh, really? Flynn fights the urge to roll his eyes. It's the alcohol, he reminds himself. "I'm not asleep either," he points out. 

Wyatt waves his hand dismissively. "Yeah, but you're-" He pauses. Frowns. "Doing something. Right? Getting Lucy something, or-or something." 

"Nope." He has not, in fact, seen Lucy all night. "Couldn't sleep." 

He wills Wyatt to understand, because the last thing he wants is to get into sharing his deepest fears with Wyatt Logan. This conversation is already bad enough. 

Long minutes pass, with Wyatt blinking up at him slowly, before realization dawns. “You’re scared, too.”

He’s glad that he’s sitting down. 

Any other observation, he could have handled: He’s messed up, he isn’t coping, he’s angry… Even “You’re having nightmares” would have been preferable. But Wyatt is barely holding onto consciousness, and he seems to be losing his barriers fast. 

Flynn takes a few steadying breaths before he nods. “Yes.” It’s unlikely Wyatt will remember any of this in the morning anyway, right? “But we’re not talking about me. We’re talking about you getting drunk in the middle of the night and throwing a pity party.”

The words don’t even seem to register. “You’re scared,” Wyatt repeats, a little awed. 

Enough of this. "Only an idiot wouldn't be. But what you're doing isn't helping anybody." 

"Makes me feel better," he shoots back, but Flynn knows that coping tactic far too well.

"No it doesn't." 

Wyatt doesn't argue. 

Flynn lets him think on that as he gives the room another once-over. Is that shadow new? He can't be sure. In the next instant, it moves, and a chill runs through him. Everyone is asleep, so if someone's moving in the doorway, they aren't part of the team.

How did someone get in? Wouldn't they have set off the alarms? 

Does it matter? 

He reaches for his gun, just as the figure steps into the light. He starts to draw, but Wyatt lunges forward, blocking his path. 

"Move," Flynn hisses, but Wyatt doesn't flinch.

"Look." 

Half debating the pros and cons of just shooting through Wyatt, he looks past him, and freezes. 

Jiya stands in the doorway, her robe pulled tightly around herself, frowning sleepily. "You two aren't killing each other again, right?" 

He could have killed  _ Jiya.  _

He thinks he might be sick.

"No," Wyatt says, and Flynn almost thanks him, because his throat is so tight he can't answer. "Just… Hanging out." 

"Hanging… Out?" Jiya sounds like she might think she's still asleep. After a second of consideration, she clarifies: "Without murder?" 

Flynn swallows, forcing out a reply. "No murder," he assures, offering a wry smile. "Pinky promise." 

This may or may not reassure her.

"Okayyyy… I'm just gonna… Get some tea." 

Wyatt settles back in his seat, and Flynn elects to watch Jiya making her drink rather than look at him. His hands are shaking, and he wills them to still. 

Jiya. He'll never replace his daughter, will never even try, but he can't deny that Jiya makes that particular ache a little smaller, and to think that he almost-that he could have-

"I'm heading back to bed," Jiya announces, and Flynn blinks. How long has he been stuck in his thoughts? Before he can process that, she adds, "If you guys are sure you're okay?" She looks between them, and he cannot meet her eyes. 

"We're fine." Wyatt sounds impressively sober. "Get some rest." 

She lingers a moment longer, and Flynn can feel her eyes on him, knows that she's waiting for his confirmation. He opens his mouth, but no sound comes out, so he just nods. 

When she returns to her room, Flynn closes his eyes. He can already hear Wyatt’s smug taunting, pointing out that he has no room to be giving advice. No room to judge coping mechanisms. “Guess you’ve got your job back,” he mutters, aiming for glib. It doesn’t quite hit.

Wyatt clears his throat. “Are you…”  _ Out of your mind? Out of control? Completely incapable of differentiating Jiya from an intruder?  _ “...Okay?”

It’s obvious the word doesn’t come easy to him; it’s stilted and unsure on his tongue, lingering in the air. But the fact that he’s asking at all is baffling, to say the least. 

“Fine.” 

He wants to keep his eyes closed, but the looming terror of a shady figure hidden in the shadows is too much for him, so he looks up. Nothing, of course. No one is in the bunker now who means them harm. (He checks three times, just in case.) 

Wyatt doesn’t seem convinced of Flynn’s relative “okay-ness,” but he also isn’t sober enough to question it. “You know, I’ve been thinking…”

“Doubt that,” Flynn interrupts before he can stop himself, grappling for familiar territory. 

If Wyatt hears him, he doesn’t acknowledge it. (Flynn is getting rather tired of that.) “You tried to kill me a lot.”

“You tried to kill me first,” he points out, although the accusation settles uncomfortably under his skin. Some of the things he did back in those days still eat him alive. 

Wyatt hums. Whatever hint of sobriety he grasped to deal with Jiya seems to have faded, because his eyes are almost glazed over. “I’m glad I missed.” 

Well, he’s just full of surprises tonight, isn’t he? “Thank you?”

This seems to satisfy Wyatt, who nods. “Yeah. Y’know, I don’t really feel good. ‘S’just, I don’t feel good no matter what. Don’t know what else t’ do. Don’t like it, though. Feel like my dad.”

Flynn’s mind goes blank. The journal never said a word about Wyatt’s father. “How so?” Even as he asks, a sinking feeling in his stomach tells him the answer. 

Wyatt shrugs, as if he’s discussing the weather. “He used to do this. Get real drunk. ‘Course, I don’t hit my kid, so that’s something.” He considers this. “My kid’s not born yet. Guess I don’t know what I’ll do when they are. But I don’t-I don’t wanna be like my dad.” He looks up at Flynn, sudden panic scrawled across his face. “Don’t let me-”

Rage burns through Flynn without warning, at the man who did this to WyattWell, everything makes sense now, in a horrible sort of way. “You’re not going to hurt your child,” he hisses. “Alright?” 

It comes out too sharp, and he regrets it immediately, but oddly, it seems to reassure Wyatt. The younger man relaxes with a nod. “Good. ‘s good.” His gaze drops to his wedding ring. "Guess it doesn't matter. Probably never gonna see 'em again." 

He wants to reassure Wyatt that he  _ will _ , because no matter his issues with the man, he knows all too well the pain of losing a child. But he's never been one for empty promises, and he isn't about to start now. "Don't give up just yet," he offers instead. "This isn't over." 

Wyatt considers this, then nods. "Thanks, man." 

It feels uncomfortably comfortable, in that moment. Like he's back in the service, and the man across from him is just another brother. "Get some sleep," he mutters, gesturing to the couch. "Sober up." 

To Flynn's surprise, Wyatt doesn't argue. Instead, he leans back, using his arm as a pillow, and cuddles into the couch. "Are you going to sleep?" His words slur, as exhaustion and alcohol fully catch up with him. 

Flynn shakes his head. "I'll keep watch." Anything is better than the nightmares. 

Wyatt frowns, even as his eyes drift shut. "When I wake up," he manages, "you sleep. Gotta… Watch each other's backs." 

His gut instinct is to roll his eyes at the idea of Wyatt Logan watching his back. But… Well…. Jiya's face flashes through his mind, and he nods. "Alright." 

The only response comes in the form of a loud snore, and Flynn can't help himself; he smiles. Then, not letting himself overthink it, he grabs the blanket off the back of the couch and drops it over Wyatt. After all, the man won't be any more rested if he's freezing all night. Right? 

(Wyatt stares at him a little too long in the morning, as if he's not quite sure the events of the past night actually happened. "Are we… Friends now?" He asks finally, brows furrowed tightly. 

A thousand snarky remarks are born and die on Flynn's tongue, and he shrugs. "Unfortunately, I think we are." 

That night, as Wyatt stays up keeping watch, Flynn sleeps.) 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading, and I hope you enjoy!


End file.
